


Six Weeks

by deducethegay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 01:45:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deducethegay/pseuds/deducethegay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And If you must die, sweetheart,<br/>Die knowing your life was my life's best part.<br/>And if you must die,<br/>Remember your life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to dedicate this fic to a certain evil Queen.
> 
> To Maria (TheWomvn),  
> This is for Ten Days.

Irene was the brain in our marriage. People assume because of her unparalleled beauty that she must have been dumb. That's always the way isn't it? Well she wasn't, she was smarter than all of you. Her mind was a beautiful place, she could crack codes and recite Shakespeare simultaneously. Her mind was what I fell in love with.

It was a cruel twist of fate that her mind would be her undoing.

"How long do I have?" Always so calm, so poised. It's just business to her.

"Six weeks. At a push." The Doc can't look her in the eye while he signs her verbal death warrant. But at least he's frank I suppose.

A composed smile, a thank you, and then she's gone. I trail after her, oblivious to the _so sorry_ 's and the _it's never easy_ 's from Doc. I'm sure he's a nice man, but he's just told me the world's going to end in six weeks.

Kate picks us up from the hospital, I don't say a word on the way home, but Irene seems surprisingly okay. She tells Kate the arrangements that will need to be made. Kate knows better then to ask questions, or worse yet express any kind of condolences. For a moment we catch eyes in the review mirror, she almost looks sorry for me. She thinks she knows how I feel because she's infatuated with Irene. She doesn't.

* * *

 

 "Tell me what you're thinking." She's looking up at me from her favourite chair, with big doe eyes, not vulnerable, but not her usual indestructible glare.

I settle down onto her lap, I'm careful to shift so my weight isn't pressing on her. I take her face in my hands and place my fingertips against her temples. I like to think I can read her mind if I try hard enough.

"The same as you probably."

She mulls this thought over for a moment. Instinctively her slender arms reach out and encircle me.

"I don't want to while away in the house for six weeks." She says.

"I know. Whatever you want to do, the sky's the limit."

"Well that's rather boring, we can't go anywhere if we can't fly."

"Funny."

Neither of us are laughing.

She plays absentmindedly with my hair, lost in her own little world.

"I want to re-live our first six weeks." She says suddenly, her eyes flashing at the idea.

My heart plunges, we were saving that for when we were old and grey. I'll never see Irene with grey hair. Although she's probably quite chuffed about that.

* * *

 

_"Little Miss. Dublin. I bet you've never put a foot wrong in your life."_

_"We've only just met, you don't know me."_

_"Oh please I know the type. I guarantee I could show you more in six weeks than you've seen in your whole life."_

_"Are you asking me to run away with a mad woman, just to prove a point?"_

_"Maybe."_

And I did run away with a mad woman, all over Europe. Turns out she was right.

So here I am, four years later, about to do it all again. Except this time I plan everything, right down to the last detail. Irene's only request is that we do it backwards, so that towards the end we're back in London, where we first met. With Kate's help it only takes a day to make the arrangements, and then we're off. About to live the first and last chapter of our story.

 

* * *

 

I could tell you every second of those six weeks.

I could tell you how we first went to Rome where Irene proposed to me. Of course at the time I said yes, The Woman had come into my life like a hurricane and there was no going back.

I could tell you how we went to Cannes, and attended the most exclusive parties in the world, just like we used to.

I could tell you how we went to Corfu and I burnt the skin on my nose, just like before.

I could tell you how we went to Berlin and kissed, just like we did for the first time all those years ago.

I could tell you everyone second of those six weeks, but I won't. They're my memories, and soon they'll be all I have left of my beautiful wife. So I don't want to share.

* * *

 

We're back in London now, our final stop. My hands are gripping tightly onto the handles of Irene's wheel chair, she's too tired to walk. It doesn't take long before we're outside my old Boss' building.

"I can't believe I used to work here, it seems so long ago." I tug my coat closer around me, and do the same to Irene. We can't stay too long, she's not strong enough to be out at night in the middle of January.

"I can't believe Sherlock shot your Boss." She's smiling at that so I smile with her.

"About your clever detective, I did try and contact him-"

She cuts me off with a scowl. I try not to laugh, after four years and I'm still making mistakes.

"Yeah he seemed to agree with you. Before I could even say "terminal" he promptly told me that to him "Irene Adler is, and always will be, The Woman" and that's all he needs to know."

I let out a mock sigh as Irene beams with pride. I'll never understand the relationship between her and Sherlock, but I've decided I like him. Despite our proposal scandal, he respects Irene better than most people, so he'll always be in my good books.

"I remember you standing here four years ago, you had that gorgeous suit on." Her voice is so small, she's looking at me with such adoration I want to cry. But I can't, not yet.

"I remember standing here four years ago, innocently minding my own business on my lunch break. And then Irene Adler sucked me into her orbit." I try for sarcasm, but I can't keep the love out of my voice.

She's grinning now. "Do you remember what I said to you?"

"Yes you deduced I was a goody two shoes Dublin girl without a spontaneous bone in my body." I want to laugh and cry at the same time. It's such a wonderfully weird memory, and right now it's tearing my heart in two.

She's waving her hand slightly at me, that's our code for 'help me up'. She might be on death's door but she's determined not to show weakness. I take her in my arms and hold her tiny frail frame against my own. She presses her forehead against mine and whispers to me,

"Little Miss. Dublin. I bet you've never put a foot wrong in your life."

She's reciting her favourite story. Our story.

"We've only just met, you don't know me." I whisper back.

"Oh please I know the type. I guarantee I could show you more in six weeks than you've seen in your whole life."

"Are you asking me to run away with a mad woman, just to prove a point?"

"Maybe."

I kiss her. It's soft and slow, and there's so much pain behind it, but also so much love. It's only for a few seconds, but she's panting slightly by the time she pulls away.

"Come on," I say helping her back into the chair and tucking her blanket around her, "Let's go home."

* * *

 

I could tell you than Irene Adler's last hours were painless.

I could tell you that she died with dignity.

I could tell you that she wasn't afraid.

I could, but I won't, because it isn't true. The important thing is that she died knowing I loved her, that she was my world and that her life was what made my life.

* * *

 

The house is too quiet. It's not the same without Irene's laughter bouncing off the walls, without the clink of our wine glasses as we make a toast to us.

 _Us_. That's all that mattered to me in the end. I was the bubbly Dublin girl, with a heart big enough for everyone. Then she came into my life and sucked in all that love for herself.

So I wrote down 'us', our life, our story. How she left my world just as violently as she entered it. Except now I've forgotten how to live without my mad woman. 

You see, this isn't just our story. It's my note.

It’s what people do, don’t they – leave a note?

-Janine Hawkins


End file.
